


The Old World

by AugustStories



Category: Original Work
Genre: Historical References, Kinda, Lisbon - Freeform, Portugal - Freeform, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22068655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustStories/pseuds/AugustStories
Summary: The Old World was in ruins but you could built anew from ruins if only you tried hard enough and never gave up, and sometimes you even found love among cobbled stones.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	The Old World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abadgerinthebluebox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abadgerinthebluebox/gifts).



**The Old World**

The Old World.

Most commonly said term described Africa, Asia and Europe, the world known to people before the discovery of the Americas and Oceania.

If you go a little more focused on details and led by traditional western education and culturization, the Old World meant Europe, meant civilization, meant culture, meant history and political evolution.

The New World, that was the Americas, unknown exotic territory and wild uncultured barbarians who needed to be taught the right ways, the right religion, the right culture and politics.

And now?

Six hundred years after Columbus had discovered the Americas the Old World was a graveyard, either a wasteland of nuclear destruction or a field of ghost cities and abandoned settlements. Europe was empty of human life on a permanent living condition, travelers and scientists the only people still crossing over borders and entering the one harbor that still granted a halfway decent anchoring point.

Lisbon.

Isabella Catalina Sousa belonged to what the post-apocalyptic population nowadays called 'The Cursed Children', the last generation born on European soil before the mass evacuations started. Isabella herself had been born only six weeks before the struggle between the US and Russia had exploded into a wave of violence that had razed Europe to the ground as the unwilling battlefield it had become.

That had been twenty eight years ago, Isabella had grown up in Porto Alegre and Caracas, Brasil and Venezuela had been her homes all her live, for since the nuclear bombings of continental Europe, the western parts of Russia and the east coast of the United States, the surviving world population mostly lived below the equator. Her roots laid in Portugal, born as she had been in Lisbon, her family had lived in Portugal for generations, her blood was Portuguese. She also knew very much that within her lifetime, even within the lifetime of her not yet existent grandchildren, no human would be able to inhabitat Europe still.

She was European without Europe.

She was Portuguese without Portugal.

Her grandparents and her parents, her whole extended family really, held up traditions in far away South America, the language being the easiest because they had settled in Brasil first and the former colony had been much more welcoming to their Portuguese refuges than to other Europeans. Even after her education and work had drawn her to Caracas, Isabella had always held her history and her legacy very close to her heart.

Portugal couldn't call itself a country anymore but it still lived on in the hearts of its people.

And every single time her work allowed her to make that next visit to the Old World, Isabella knew that her heart would grow again and beat all over again for the homeland she had never gotten to know as it had still lived.

\--

The first thing Isabella did whenever she arrived in Lisbon – after having her credentials and permissions checked for the usual two hours at the harbor – was to walk to the Praça do Comércio and stand in the middle of it. As Portugal hadn't been close to the epicenters of the war and the bombings of Great Britain, France and Germany, Lisbon and the other cities or villages hadn't been razed to the ground or hit by destroying amounts of nuclear radiation. It was just enough radiation that permanent living conditions wouldn't be met for a long time yet in the South of Europe, the Middle and the North looked worse.

The experts weren't clear yet but it might just be that those former great countries, Britain, France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, most of Austria, that they would never be able to host a living human soul anymore.

As Lisbon had been empty of human life for twenty eight years now though, nature had long since started reclaiming territory. The city got greener and greener, especially because the amount of nuclear fallout that had come down as rain and hence seeped into the ground had somehow caused the vegetation to mutate into brighter colors here instead of wilting them into stunted cripples like the heavy rainouts had done further North.

It was beautiful, stunning really what the city had become now.

So much culture had been lost to the war, not just in the US and Russia, the actual aggressors but mostly also in the innocent victims of the tyranny and the catasstrophe of that summer. So much history had been wiped out, unable to ever preserve it, and she was so grateful that at least in the South many things had survived and could be – painstakingly slowly due to the radiation – be preserved and in parts brought over into the New New World already.

History, art, literature.

There was so much to treasure about Europe's past still as they started anew.

It was art though that she herself was focused on, that she was here for.

Especially Portuguese architecture and its long history.

The Praça do Comércio had once already seen a catasstrophe that could have taken Portugal out of the game forever, the 1755's Lisbon earthquake and the natural disasters that followed had almost destroyed the entire city. But it had survived, moved on, built itself up stronger again, only many historic constructions hadn't been rebuilt because it had just been too much of an effort and monetary expense.

Like the  Paço da Ribeira, the Palace for the Kings of Portugal, built by Manuel I when his aspiring hopes and plans for his kingdom, for his Portugal, had made the old residence too small, too cramped, too simple. Not appropriate for a man who sat on the throne of the country that held the monopoly on spice trade in Europe, that held its own against the ever more pushing Spanish conquerors in the Age of Discoveries and the rising New World.

King Manuel I needed a new palace fitting to the man who had married two daughters of the Great King Ferdinand II of Aragorn and Queen Isabella I of Castile, and hence the Paço da Ribeira had been built on the very place she stood right then. She herself had been named after the man's first daughter, Infanta Isabel, the first princess born in the new palace, who would go on to marry Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, and become Empress and Regent over Spain herself.

The Royal Palace had been completely destroyed by the earthquake but the central square had always honored and remembered what it had been built on, the ruins of history. Back then a new era had begun for Lisbon, so every time now she came for a visit she would walk to this place and pray that one day Lisbon, and with it Portugal as well, would get another new beginning as well.

There wasn't any art to document and preserve in this place though, so after her few minutes of silence, Isabella moved on to climb the hill at the centre of Lisbon on which another palace had stood long before the first stone for the Paço da Ribeira had been laid down.

She climbed to the  Castelo de São Jorge.

Once there had been a fortress in its place whose conquest in the Siege of Lisbon had started the expulsion of the Moors from Europe and had been the first step in establishing the Kingdom of Portugal as a European player of strength. In memorando the fortress was rebuilt into a castle and until Manuel I all Portuguese Monarchs had reigned from this hill since leaving Coimbra behind for a new capital.

When news had broken that the castle would be the first thing in the preserving efforts that would be investigated and then tended to, some voices in the exiled Portuguese communities had flared up that one should spent money and attention to the more modern buildings of Lisbon instead of a place that had already been on the way to be called a ruin. The majority though understood the importance of starting with the old parts of their country, if you didn't start preserving old stone when radiation had already gnawed on it you would lose it for good.

Time was of the essence.

Isabella was one of the assistants of the Director of European Preservation Organisation, Carlos Vasquez. He was Spanish, had fought in the war when Spain had joined with Italy, Portugal, Southern France and Switzerland to blockade the Americans from turning their streets into bloodrivers and their backyards into mass graves, too. Carlos had gotten injured and was now unable to travel back to Europe because the doctors had plenty of times advised against long distance travel by ship, Carlos hadn't listened and landed himself paralyzed from the waist down in a wheelchair.

And due to a lack of heavy machinery working in the Old World – radiation remains, even low ones, killed every generator they had tried to set up – they couldn't clean up the streets and pathways properly enough to ensure that wheelchairs could move freely and without danger in the cities that Carlos' projects were mantained in. No city in the South of Europe was destroyed but it didn't mean there wasn't damage, and nature taking over as new master also left its consequences.

Hence Carlos had to divert the oversight of his projects to his assistants, Isabella was responsible for the South of Portugal. She was not only happy about it because Lisbon was the place of her birth but also because her collegue Miguel had the unfortunate joy of having to oversee the preservation of the entire historical heart of Porto. Miguel was not a happy fella to be around these days.

“Senhorita Sousa!”

Isabella had barely reached the top of the stairs when one of the workers was already calling for her and she had to dive right into her duties. There wasn't much work left to do in ensuring that the castle would keep standing for the forseeable future instead of threatening to crumble away, the preservation works that had already been started by the time her grandmother had been a young girl had given them a good basis to work with.

As much as she was looking forward to getting off this hill though, she knew that there was a lot of work waiting in the city below, many historical buildings that needed to be tended to. The earthquake had turned Lisbon into a young city, speaking by European standards, compared to Porto or Braga most of the inner city was basically architecturally virginal. Young or not though, Lisbon was of importance because the city was important, because it was the gateway to Europe now and because it carried a lot of symbolical meaning.

The Castelo de São Jorge was maybe the most extensive of her projects but it was not the most difficult one and she could already feel the faint echoes of headaches when she thought ahead of all the sacred buildings where even the smallest touch to a single stone would have hours of discussions with the church ahead of it. Joy.

But that was the future, climbing along slippery rocks and squeezing past construction railings was her present.

She talked with Senhor Hernando, the Head of the current preservation team, over the work that had been done in the last weeks, went over the de-construction of the railings with him and took a look herself at the newly polished inner courtyard walls.

When she had been younger and spent hours every day in the company of her avó, she had envisioned her future differently. She had seen herself in an apartment at the coast, overlooking the ocean, painting and drawing all day long, reading in the evening when the light went low, weekends spent parousing art galleries or being available for questions to her own priced artworks hanging on walls of famous museums.

As she grew older her dreams changed, mostly under the pressure of her parents who wanted something more solid for their daughter in this new uncertain world they were living in. Less than two decades hadn't been enough to take the fear out of her mother that the war had caused. Isabella ended up studying architecture and art history in Caracas, her compromise, a solid education in something her parents deemed practical but far away from Port Alegre to have her freedom, her avó was the only one who fully supported her, who kept sending her art supplies so she could keep up her passion.

A passion and talent she had inherited from her avó.

The job at the EPO was a dream because it connected her education, her knowledge, with something she was very passionate about, she wouldn't want to miss it for the world.

\--

“Isabella!”

Stopping midway down the long stairs that led up and down from the Castelo de São Jorge, Isabella looked over her shoulder and smiled when she saw Thiago taking the stairs two at a time to catch up.

“I've been scouring the castle grounds for you, thought I'd missed you already.”

Thiago Montverde was a photographer who had been accompanying the restoration and construction groups for documentation right from the beginning. They had quickly become friends over the course of a great many ship voyages and though he lived in Georgetown, Guyana, and hence a sizable distance away, Thiago was by now one of her closest confidantes. In fact they had grown so used to each other that Isabella couldn't tolerate work with any other photographers around anymore.

They always ended up in her path or bothering the workers to get a perfect shot that still ended up needing post-work before being released. Thiago not only never bothered anyone, he also had the skill and the eye to capture perfect moments with just one shot.

Photography was more than just a job for him, it was art. Just like her he was inclined to see the beauty in the world and life instead of the disaster zone that Europe had become. And with his ever calm being and his sunny smiles and him being overall not exactly bad looking, Isabella just also simply enjoyed being with him.

They embraced once Thiago stopped next to her, this time he had arrived in Lisbon with an earlier ship because some billionaire out of Columbia had wanted pictures of the Spanish countryside as viewed from the Portuguese border. The man had been a descendant of Isabella of Portugal and Charles V's older daughter Maria, and he had wanted photos taken of Isabella's first view of her new kingdom as she had travelled to meet the Emperor for the very first time.

“You ready to head down into the city? I got a list of streets I need to capture for EPO.” Thiago told her after he had kissed her cheeks, her arm quickly tugged around his as they continued to descend the stairs. Thiago was sunshine on a stressed mind, like a soft blanket of warmth that covered the restlessness in her veins and the frustrations building over a long day.

“I need to get an overview to make the new shedules,” Isabella explained and leaned against his taller frame a little, “we'll be finished with the castle within the week, and I got new workers coming in.”

“Always my busy bee queen,” Thiago laughed but he was also just joking, he liked to keep busy and going going just as much as she did. Even on the ship voyages they used to spend hours walking the deck where hours lazied around in their cabins or played games in the mess hall. “I'll keep you company then and promise to not capture you too many times.” Isabella rolled her eyes and laughed softly because she knew for dead sure that she would end up on half of his pictures anyway.

They left the hill behind them but didn't walk back towards the Praça do Comércio, instead they made their way towards the coast and streets filled with old buildings that would soon become Isabella's next project. Working alongside Thiago let the time pass easier while she wrote lists and took rather practical pictures of building damage while Thiago went for the artistic art shots of streets and building facades.

The contrast between what their eyes had to see in those moments always made Isabella smile.

She had to see the damage, had to spot the smallest possible problems.

He had to see the beauty to show the people at home why they had to save these city parts.

Their work was so contrasting and still it went so well together and they moved flawlessly around each other for hours as the sun slowly began to set. No one was allowed out in the city once the dark was announcing the night, everyone had to return to the fenced off and protected compound in the harbor district then. The Southern European countries didn't have mutated wild animals roaming free who were far more dangerous than the predators who had once roamed the wilderness of Europe but no one was taking any chances. The rules were there to protect the people from danger but also the cities from them, looting and further destruction had to be avoided at all costs.

Thiago and her arrived at the compound well before the sun had set and Isabella didn't bother changing clothes, only brushed her hair and swept a hand full of cold water in her face before she joined Thiago in the mess hall for supper. The compound was the only thing running with electricity in the entire city, solar panels coming to the rescue and giving them some semblance of comfort after long hours of work. There was light, there was heated running water and working kitchen. Everything else they needed in electronics had to run on rechargeable batteries they brought with the ships, shipping containers full of them.

“How is your grandmother doing? Last time we talked over the phone at home, she was still in the hospital,” Thiago brought the conversation ease back on the track once they were eating, surrounded by dozens of people who had returned to the harbor as well. Most of them workers, the travelers allowed to transverse through Europe must have already reached the halfway camp between Lisbon and Barcelona.

“She's good, was nothing serious as she had said right from the beginning,” Isabella could take the concern away, her avó loved Thiago and was always glad to know that she had a friend on her long journeys. “My father wanted her to remain for more tests to really be sure but she annoyed the nurses until they basically begged her to sign the release papers.” Thiago laughed and Isabella felt a little flutter in her chest.

It was just so easy to be herself with him.

“That's good to hear,” he chuckled and got distracted when the captains' table erupted into loud roughish laughter, those men who never saw anything more of the European mainland than Lisbon's harbor. Isabella felt sorry for them, most of those men were European in origin, too, but their feet never got a chance to explore the land they were sailing to on a monthly basis. “Listen,” Thiago drew her attention back to him after a moment though, “I wanted to tell you this on the ship already but I kept on chickening out.”

“What is it?” Isabella pushed a little when Thiago seemed to get lost in nerves, it wasn't really his style to chicken out of something. He took a deep breath and looked at her.

“EPO gave me a full contract, steady full time position,” Thiago made a dramatic pause because he was great with those, “in Caracas,” he finished and Isabella's heart actually stopped as her mind tried to process those words.

“You're leaving Georgetown?” She asked in stunned disbelief because Thiago had from the first second of her knowing him always been full of admiration for Guyana and Georgetown, for the people and the culture. It had been in his blood.

“I love Guyana,” Thiago hence also started his explanation and she couldn't stop looking at his suddenly sparkling eyes and his bright excited grin. “It's always gonna be home but I'm looking forward to some adventure as well. Caracas got some quite convincing parts to encourage a move.”

“Like what?”

“Like you,” Thiago forewent the nerves finally and just went with charming honesty and Isabella found herself smiling but also blushing.

\--

In bed that night, worn out from the long hours walking of the day but also happy because of the overall progress and most importantly also Thiago's news delivery, Isabella daydreamed a little while she sketched as the stars twinkled over the ocean outside her little window. Her laptop was running her cherished old collection of historical Spanish drama series, among them her absolutely favourite, Carlos, rey emperador, that though centered around Emperor Charles V, it also told Infanta Isabella's story.

And as she drew the infanta standing in the old palace that Isabella could only piece together through drawings she had seen in books and art collections, she thought back to Thiago and his flirting and how exciting it had made herself upon the thought of having him around more often now. She liked him and with the distance issue taken away her one remaining hesitation upon maybe seeking something out with him was falling away.

And in some ways he had been her Emperor Carlos in some way.

Infanta Isabella was said to have once said,  _ O cesàr o nada –  _ it's Caesar or nothing when Charles had chosen to not marry her for a while.

And Isabella Sousa found that her heart had unknowingly been deciding on the same thing for a couple of years already.

It's Thiago. Or no one.

And just like Infanta Isabella it turned out she was gonna get the guy after all, and maybe her guy didn't come with an empire, several kingdoms, some crowns and a legacy of the greatest monarchs the world had seen until then. But Thiago was gonna be able to make her as happy as Carlos had once made his only Queen.

\--

The Old World was in ruins but its history was not.

They got to keep that, and learn from it, take from it in any way they could.

Infanta Isabella left Portugal and never returned but her son did and became King.

And one day, one of Isabella's own descendants would live as a Portuguese in Portugal as well again.

**The End.**


End file.
